


Undistilled spirits

by Alphawave



Series: Gas 'em blast 'em [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Bonding, Caustic has to struggle with feelings, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drinking Games, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, The happy ending is for the NEXT fic on the line which I'm already working on, Then watch me break out the regular dictionary for Caustic, Walter also kinda does but only really at the end, Watch me break out the dictionary of Aussie slang for Fuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Sequel to'Clapback'. Fuse finds himself in the residence of Caustic, where the two bond over beer, loss, and bubbling truths. (And while he's there, he might as well get a second shot for that booty, amiright?)
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Fuse | Walter Fitzroy
Series: Gas 'em blast 'em [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148978
Comments: 19
Kudos: 72





	Undistilled spirits

In his defense, he didn’t actually expect Caustic to actually go drinking with him. Walter’s always been the kind to go with the flow, make up plans on the fly and see how it goes. Sure, maybe he shouldn’t be doing that so much in the middle of a bloodsport because it almost cost him an arm and a leg (and then it did, though not in the way he expects) but it’s rarely ever not worked out when it came to a hangout with friends…well, acquaintainces…well, opponents in a battle to the death.

Ah, let’s just call this what it is. It’s a date. A date with one of the most mysterious legends to ever grace the Apex games, and the man most likely to tear Walter limb from limb if he even thinks about breathing on him wrong. Walter 'Fuse' Fitzroy, voted the most eligible bachelor on Salvo over 40, is going on a date with Alexander ‘Caustic’ Nox.

And if he's really calling it as it is, he's looking forward to it.

Much of a laugh it might have been to try and convince Caustic (Alexander? Alex? Al?) to go drinking at Mirage’s bar, he knows at the best of moods he’ll get a glass to the head and at worst a face full of gas and a quick one-way trip to the big guy in the sky (with maybe a pitstop at Mad Maggie's parade of traitors). So as much as he wants to give the bar a go, it’ll have to be another time. Maybe with the other legends. Maybe tomorrow. Or even tonight if things go especially badly.

Well, unless tonight ends with a tangled mess of limbs on a mattress, but Walter isn’t holding out on his chances. Caustic doesn’t strike him as the kind to get feisty on the first date.

He’s dressed a little bit more formally, which in Salvo terms means he’s wearing the non-ripped jeans tonight. A decent vest over a clean t-shirt he bought during the reunion tour of ‘Inter web’, a touch of hair gel for good luck, hell, he even did a bit of manscaping just for the fun of it. The end result is a bit bougie for his tastes, but he’s sure Caustic (Nox? Noxo? Noxxy boy? Doctor thicc ass?) will appreciate the effort he put in. He looks good, and he feels good. That's usually a sign that the good times are upon him.

As Caustic explained in his obscenely long e-mail, Walter is to ring the doorbell of Caustic’s residence twice, then knock three times on the front door. A bit strange, but he does it, and a few seconds later the door slides open to reveal Caustic. Except it's not the Caustic most people get to see With the comfy but stylish sweater, tiny frames, and long pants with fancy brogues, beard and thin lips on full display, he looks less like a sadistic killer and more like a professor at some uni.

Walter wolf whistles. “Shaping up real nice, doc. Hey, I’ve been a bad _, bad_ student. Gonna send me to detention and punish me?” He smirks.

Caustic does not even smile. “You are…early.”

“That wrong?”

He opens his mouth then shuts it. “Never mind. You may come in and wait by the front door until I am ready. Do not take a step further, and do not touch anything.”

Walter raises his hands. “Ain’t touching anything, ain't stealing anything.” Much as he'd like to do his usual bit of not following orders, something tells him the night will go far more smoothly and far more enjoyably if he listens just this once.

He waits in the hallway, and it's only 30 seconds in that he notices the odd scent. Or rather, the lack of a scent. Near the door, he spies a few tiny little turrets emitting invisible gas. Anyone might look at them and think Caustic is attempting another 'experiment' outside of the ring (again) but Walter knows enough about gases to realise it's a high-tech gas phase decontaminant, the kind you'd normally get on the luxury space ships to get rid of potentially dangerous foreign particles in the air. Was he standing here like a galah in budgie smugglers so doc Nox could decontaminate him? It weren't fair. He put on deodorant and everything.

Just under two minutes later, Caustic returns.

“Well? We goin' out for a few stubbies?” Walter asks.

“I said I would choose the location. I never said it had to be outside.” He gestures for Walter to follow him inside.

The place looks remarkably similar to Walter's own Apex-given accommodation. That is to say, it's barren, with little furniture and even less personal items. The only thing he can argue is personal are the gas barrels piled up in a corner, the two six-packs of high quality stubbies on a small little table, and some plants—a whole bunch of them, in fact, in all sorts of colours and shapes and sizes, all flourishing and growing.

From the way Caustic seems even more stiff than usual, Walter doesn't imagine many people get the luxury to enter Caustic's personal quarters. It's honestly flattering. It'd be a fun tale for the others. Wally Fitzroy: first man to make the perilous journey to Caustic's residence and live to tell the tale. 

Walter walks up to the table and grabs a beer bottle for himself, popping the cap with his elbow and taking a sip from himself. It’s a nice craft pale ale from Gaea. Lighter on the alcohol and heavier on the flavour. More the beer for aficionados that actually give a damn about the taste rather than those looking to get plastered. It’s the perfect compromise for Salvo and Gaea tastes, or maybe Caustic just likes those kinds of beers too. Walter has yet to decide which scenario is more likely. Quite frankly, he doesn't expect Caustic to be a beer person. Maybe a white wine person, or perhaps something stronger like a scotch or whiskey. Something classy.

He's about to grab a bottle and pop it for Caustic, only to realise that the latter is staring at him intently, his sharp eyes looking sharper behind those innocuous frames.

“Ah, almost forgot.” Walter fumbles around his pockets before revealing a packet of macadamia nuts. “Didn't know we were gonna drink here, else I'd bring something more substantial. Call it a 'sorry I slapped your ass without your permission' present.”

Caustic gingerly takes the present and observes it carefully.

“It ain't poisoned, mate,” Fuse says. “Macadamia nuts from Salvo. Kinda became a galaxywide sensation, but the original stuff from Salvo's still the best, I reckon.”

“I see.” Caustic opens the packet and sniffs inside. He takes one out, rolls it over his fingers for several seconds, then pops it into his mouth. He chews so slowly that it feels naughtier than a strip tease. Walter almost wants to be that little macadamia nut, chewed up and swallowed down, savoured for the taste and not the appearance. If he has to go out, being wrapped up in that torturous tongue will do him good. 

Caustic sniffs the packet again, and takes several into his hand, then slides the bag back onto the table. He chomps the others down with far less decorum than he did the first.

“Your present is…acceptable,” he says.

“Heh. So you can be the soft and fuzzy type when ya wanna be.”

And just like that, Caustic's features sharpen into a bitter frown. He takes a seat at the small table and opens a beer bottle for himself with a bottle opener on the table. The drink is then poured into another glass. Fuse is yet to know if it's because of snobbery or hygiene. Barely a year ago when talks of Salvo joining the Syndicate were still underway, there were a fair few bets trying to guess which medical condition Caustic has that's stuck him with a mask all the time. It seems a dead ringer to everyone that the mask ain't just for show, and Walter didn't have a reason back then to disprove it.

He could ask about it. But that's something to ask when they've a bit less sober. For now, he's got the perfect icebreaker. 

“Right, cards on the table,” Walter says as he dramatically takes his own seat. “How the bloody hell do I address you one-on-one? Nox? Al? Kinda feels impersonal to call ya Caustic, and Lifeline stole the title of 'doc' from ya.”

“I owe you no answers, Salvonian.”

“You're the one who chose to do this in your own place, darl. I'm just tryna make a convo.” He suddenly smiles. “Maybe I'll just call you darl from now on. Just between you and me, ay?” He winks.

Caustic rolls his eyes and takes a swig of his beer from his glass. Even the way he drinks is sophisticated, from the measured sniff to the careful sip to the way he wipes his mouth neatly with a napkin.

“So. Gonna pop some music for us, or do I have to nip back and grab me guitar?”

“Unnecessary. We shall play music when I say we can play music.”

“That mean we're just gonna drink beer in complete and utter silence?” Walter raises his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Caustic utters.

And so they do. For a little while at least. The silence is a bit uncomfortable, but at least it gives Walter the chance to really take stock of his surroundings. Those little gas jets he saw at the entrance are actually strewn across the complex, hidden in plain sight. The plants Caustic has reared up all had their own individual pots and individual labels on them. He can't see all of them, but two of them are marked with a date, the initials AMN, and what he assumes are the scientific names of the plants and what appears to be different amounts of something called NOX 2.0.

“Lotta plants ya got there.”

To his surprise, Caustic actually responds. “It should not be a surprise to you that I have acquisitioned flora for my private residence, considering you of all people know my real identity and, I suspect, my previous career.”

“Al Nox,” Fuse sighs like a wistful dream. “Pesticides, am I right? Must’ve been a while back since they called you dead.”

“Don’t call me Al,” he snaps.

“Ya really want me to refer to ya as darl?” Walter raises his eyebrows.

Caustic takes another long sip. Walter thinks he’s going to ignore the question point blank.

And then he opens his mouth. “You may refer to me as Alexander.”

“Alexander, ay? Then I’ll say cheers to that.” He raises his bottle to clink with Alexander’s glass. Alexander. It’s a good enough name to moan. Not as good as Al, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

“About the flora,” he continues, taking a sip from his glass. “They are failed test subjects from my previous experiments. Many of them are mutated strains that cannot be grown outside of a laboratory environment, and many more are not suited for the soil content of most of the Syndicate planets should they be cleared for release. The ones from failed experiments that live and might prove to be of use, I store them here where I might observe them under different conditions more akin to the outside world.”

Walter doesn’t claim to be a man of science, but he understands enough. “So all these ones here. They’re basically here ‘cause you grew fond of them?”

“In a sense,” Alexander utters. “I must admit, by now many of them hold an ornamental horticultural meaning to me.”

Walter chuckles. “Sounds to me like you like the plants better than you like the people.”

Alexander takes a sip from his glass and refills it from the bottle. He pops a few more nuts into his mouth. “I would think that also is obvious.”

“Well, ain’t that comforting for a bloke like me. Mostly man, some machine. Only plant in me is the fermented stuff I'm guzzling down right now.” Walter downs the rest of his beer.

“Considering your diet on the rare occasions I've seen you eat, I'd be surprised if you even know what a vegetable is.”

He should use this opening Alexander is giving him. Getting to first name basis with this man is already a big plus, but he wants more. Underneath the gas mask, there’s a pretty interesting guy there. One with a killer ass and some killer gas. Hopefully he gets the ass and not the gas. He ain't a gambler, but he's already put his chips in. Might as well go all in.

“Might be obvious, but my hobby’s music. Playing it, listening to it. Fills up the space,” Walter smiles.

“So the guitar was not just a prop for your _entrance_.” Alexander says this with an audible eyebrow raise.

“Bloody oath, it’s mine. Been with me for decades. Learned all the classics on it for a good ol’ campfire singsong.”

“Next you’re going to tell me you consider yourself an _artist._ ” This time, Alexander actually did the quotation marks with his hands and not just his voice.

Walter smirks. “Only when it comes to blowing stuff up, and hopefully blowing your mind.” He mimics pointing a gun at Caustic and pulling the trigger. 

Alexander rolls his eyes as he takes another big swig of his glass. “Typical Salvonian,” he mutters under his breath.

Walter can’t help but let his moustache twitch. “Y’know, I resent that.”

“Hmph. So there are things you resent.”

“The assumption that all of us on Salvo are the same. That we’re all just mindless bloodthirsty mercs with nothing better to do than to kill and drink. Just because the warlords are the loudest of the bunch don’t mean the others are like that.”

Alexander tilts his head, as if suddenly interested. “Enlighten me then. I do not have plans of traveling to Salvo as long as I can avoid it.”

“Where do I start? We don’t all look like this,” he gestures at his own clothes. “You probably know the whole purpose of Salvo in the first place. Supposed to be Salvation, the planet of fairness and equality and all that crap that never happened once people actually settled. So even though the planet is split into different groups led by different warlords, we’ve got a lot of different types there. Lot of different ethnicities all intermingled together, just like the other Syndicate planets. Lot of people just tryna make a living.”

“And yet you walk and talk like a stereotype with a moustache.”

“Ain’t my fault I was raised the way I was. Was taken up by Mags and the warlord in control of the area at the time, and they’re as fair dinkum Salvo as you’d imagine.”

“An orphan?” Alexander asks.

Walter raises his eyebrows. “You too?” Might be him, but he doubts a kid who had to grow up on the streets would ever speak so pretentiously, lest they wanna have knuckle sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“Incorrect.” Alexander seems to struggle whether to speak. “My mother runs an orphanage. I wasn't involved, but I was aware of the strings she pulled to keep it afloat…and the bargains she made on the side to ensure her security.”

Walter leans in closer, carefully observing Alexander to see if he broke any boundaries, but Alexander does not react. He seems far too distracted by his beer, or maybe that’s just the direction he looks whenever he thinks about the past. Down and a bit to the left. The direction of melancholic reflection. Like looking into the neck of an empty beer bottle.

Alexander continues. “She raised those orphans to be her weapons. Trained them so they might survive this cruel world. She was not unkind, but she also snowed no mercy. Those she felt did not learn from her teachings were expelled out onto the streets. When they inevitably came crawling back like the pitiful worms they are, she made sure they understood they live on borrowed time. After a while, no one dares disrespect her authority.” 

“Didn't you say you weren't involved with the orphanage?”

“She...created this orphanage after my reported death. I keep tabs, that's all. I cannot have my own mother rat me out to the world.”

“Sounds like you respect her a lot,” Walter muses.

Alexander frowns harshly. “Indeed.” There are other, unspoken words, and Walter is not sure if those words are pleasant or not. The relationship sounds complicated. For better or worse, it reminds him of his relationship with Mags.

“She alive?”

“Last I heard. It has been a while since I last looked into her and her orphanage. My experiments have taken up all of my attention at the moment.”

“Least ya still got a mum…” Walter can’t help but sigh. He takes the beer bottle up to his lips only to feel a tiny droplet touch his tongue. Not wasting a second, he slides the empty bottle away and cracks open two more with his elbow, passing one to Alexander.

Alexander peers at the bottle for several seconds before taking it. His gloved hand brushes against Walter's, an accidental gesture that nevertheless makes the lava in Walter's veins erupt to the surface. He has to change tact.

“OK, well that was a bit of a downer, so how ‘bout we make this a bit more fun?” Walter raises his bottle. “Truth and truth. Ask a question, get an answer. No ifs, ands, or buts. 'Course, anything you say I'll keep locked up tight, so don't you worry.”

Alexander stares at the bottle for several more seconds before taking it into his hand. The glass he’s been drinking from is forgotten. “It is a vacuous game with no strategy whatsoever.” He glances up and holds Walter’s gaze. “What are the victory conditions?”

“No victory conditions…well, unless you think not getting pissed is a good thing to go for. But then where’s the fun in that?” Walter smiles.

“I’ve already wasted enough brain cells on you. I do not need to waste more on some fermented beverage.”

“Ah, but you used some on me,” Walter points out. “Real flattered you cared ‘bout me, darl.”

Is it just him or is that a little bit of pink of Alexander’s cheeks? “If you use any more nicknames on me, I will relinquish your right to use my first name and escort you out of my premises. And that is only because I feel merciful tonight.”

“Sounds like a lotta brain cells are on me right now, _Alexander_ ,” he purrs. Ooh, it’s got a nice ring to it. He takes it back, it’s a good name to moan. Just like the beer, it’s an acquired taste.

Alexander takes a swig of the beer, ignoring Walter's brash statement. “Question: how did you find out about my identity?”

“Starting with a toughie, ay? Alright, I’ll bite. Couple years before Salvo joined the Syndicate I get a call from someone. They gave me all these details, said they had evidence you cheated death and burned down some labs, and that they were willing to pay me handsomely to track you down and capture you. I refused, which is why you’re still here, but the guy provided a bunch of info. If I didn’t see the pic, probably wouldn’t have figured you’re Nox either.”

Alexander grunts. “A careless mistake. To let myself be photographed.”

“Well, you’re still here, ain’t ya? Probably shouldn’t worry about it.” Walter suddenly claps his hands. “Now, for your question mate. Why leave the mask out now?”

Alexander looks at Walter, then the beer bottle. He takes more than a sip, and when he wipes the foam away from his mouth, Walter swears he looks a lot more relaxed than he’s ever seen him.

“Not gonna tell me?”

“I have a…medical condition. The exposure to my gas, even microscopically over a period of time…” he trails off.

“Nah, yeah, think I get it. That explains the little gas turret things, ay? Make the conditions optimal. Stop me from contaminating your space. That's why you left me at the entrance at the start, right?”

“You are partially correct. They allow me to walk around without a mask within these walls should I choose. But that is not why I left you to stew at the entrance.”

“Nah? Then why?”

Alexander takes a bunch of nuts, swallows them down, and says, “Because I do not like you, Salvonian.”

Walter can’t help but smile. If he said it a couple of minutes ago, maybe he’d believe him. But now? “If ya really hate me, you should’ve kicked me out ages ago.”

Alexander’s lips twist into a frown. “Don't mistake my hospitality for pleasantry.”

“Still haven't kicked me out.” Walter laughs. “This is fun. Think I'm finally getting to see the real you behind that mask of yours.”

“Ridiculous,” Alexander huffs. “Another question for you: what is the purpose of you asking for a drink between the two of us?”

“Really? You don’t know?”

“In the time we have spent together so far, you have not once made an attempt to attack me. I can only conclude that you are attempting to get in my good graces for a greater purpose. You require a favour, or an ally. Unless you can prove you can somehow assist me in my matters, you will get neither.”

Walter can’t help but laugh. Alexander cannot be that oblivious. “Is that really what you think? That a bloke like me can be that conniving?”

“Tell me, or I will throw you out,” he growls.

Walter leans forward with his hands on the table, his face inches away from Alexander’s. To the other’s benefit, they don’t crack, although from the way his eyes widen microscopically it’s clear that he didn’t expect this to be a possible outcome.

Walter smiles. He rather likes being the wild card. Rather likes being unpredictable to even the ever calculating Dr. Alexander Nox.

“Ya wanna know the truth, Alexander? I like you. More than like you, if you catch my drift.”

Fire flickers in Alexander’s eyes, appearing more faint behind those small glasses. It's only when he turns his gaze away that Walter realises they have not stopped looking at each other since they started talking.

“Do not jest with me,” Alexander hisses.

“I ain’t being a joker. I do like you. I seem to attract all the psychos, after all. And I definitely am attracted to them in return.” Walter leans in closer, forcing Alexander's gaze back on him. It’s a battle for supremacy. The first to pull away loses, and in a game of chicken, Walter never loses. In his world, faltering meant death, meant opportunities lost. What would his mates on Salvo think if he became a sook now?

Alexander's skin grows pale as the intensity of Walter's words hit him. “You cannot be referring to me.”

“Don't see any others around, do I?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’re saying a lot for someone who ain’t even pushing me away.”

Alexander’s eyes widen. It’s a crack in his defenses, tiny and split second, but it’s big enough for Walter to pull Alexander towards him and kiss him on the mouth. There’s a bit of fight in him still. Alexander squirms a little, enough to make it think he’s unwilling but far too weak to tear himself away from Walter. There’s fire and there’s smoke on Alexander’s chapped lips, bursting through Walter’s lungs and burning him from the inside out. It chokes the air around him so that only he can breathe in whatever Alexander gives him. And Alexander gives him a lot, more than enough, it can make him shoot for a round trip to the moons of the Fringe worlds and back.

It's everything Walter expects, and yet even with 50 years of experiences and 'acquaintainces' under his belt, it's still better than anything he ever hoped for from Alexander. 

The fire crackles, smoke billowing out, and Alexander pulls away finally, leaving behind the taste of cold beer and macadamia nuts on Walter’s tongue.He wipes at his mouth furiously. “What did you do, Salvonian?”

“Back to the Salvonian thing? I call you Alexander, the least you can do is not call me a Salvo like it's an insult.”

“You poisoned me. Tricked me into taking you to my residence so you can finish me off with a poison that can only be orally administered. I have to admit, it's clever. A lot more clever than I expected from a man like you.”

“First the macadamias, now my mouth?”

He takes his gloved hand up to his mouth, which Walter now realises is electronically connected to some devices monitoring his vitals.

“Is that why you said we do this here? In this controlled environment where you provide the refreshments? So I can’t poison you?” Walter says incredulously.

“So you admit guilt,” Alexander growls.

“Mate, that’s right messed up! Check your bloody scanner thing and tell me if there was anything dirty in my mouth.”

“I will, I…” His face twists in confusion. “No, that is not possible. There is nothing on here.”

“And there shouldn’t be. Bloody hell, mate, I just tried to snog you after I told you I liked you. Doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know?”

“That cannot be all there is to this. I refuse to believe you went to all this effort just for the...the opportunity to press your lips upon mine.”

Alexander stands up and crosses his arms defiantly. Even if they are both standing, it’s clear Alexander is the taller of the two, but at this very moment he looks very small. It reminds him too much of Mags. Another thing those two have in common. They’re as stubborn as a mule.

Walter huffs as he stands up, not even bothering to take the beer with him. “You know what? Fine. You’re right. There is a reason I asked for the two of us to drink together. And the reason is I am bloody attracted to ya. Couldn’t get your ass out of my head for nights, and that is the fair dinkum truth. I came here to get to know you better, and if I got real lucky, I hoped it’d be the two of us doing the devil’s tango in those very bedsheets.”

Alexander seems too stunned to comment. His mouth hangs open but no sounds escapes his swollen, dry lips.

“And even if that’d never be an option I still wanna be mates with ya. You’re an Apex bloody Legend, and nobody knows who you are. You've been in these games for over a year, fighting and killing because you love it, almost as much as I love it. You know science things that I can’t wrap my head around. And I might be a bit of a galah, I'll grant you that, but you know what? At least I am an honest one. And this honest galah doesn't want ”

Alexander glances at the packet of macadamia nuts, then at the beer. He purposefully avoids Walter’s gaze. “You are a fool to expect friendship from me, let alone a tryst.”

“Are you really going to tell me you felt nothing when we kissed? Nothing?”

He is silent. Unnaturally silent. Walter’s binged every viewing of the Apex Games ever since he heard about it, and though he has probably seen every match Alexander has been in, not once has he ever looked so lost and confused.

Walter’s seen that look only once before. Mags had that look in her eyes right after she blew up his arm. The anger and the hatred simmers low, and what shines through is the crushing guilt. But where Mags let the anger rise again, Alexander remains remorseful. That does not make the emotion any more foreign to the man. It doesn't surprise Walter at all that Caustic has rarely if ever felt regret about his actions against another. And yet the one to elicit this response from him is Walter himself, a relative stranger. Just an older man that slapped him on the ass that one time. A teammate in a bloodsport. 

Walter frowns. It’s bittersweet this discovery. He’s heard plenty from Crypto and Nat about how much of an asshole Alexander is. It sucks that has to be proven right. But they were wrong about one thing. Alexander ‘Caustic’ Nox, despite attempts to prove otherwise, is capable of emotion, and more importantly he is capable of remorse. Maybe there’s still hope. Maybe Alexander does have a heart underneath all those layers. But right now, Walter doesn’t need hope. He needs to get out and clear his mind. Go to a bar, drink till the dawn as he regales people with tale after tale. Go to a place where he can accepted, instead of here where he is himself and where he might be understood. 

He sighs loudly, and heads for the front door. What did he expect from this date? A quick lay? A friend? Something more? The more he thinks about his first impression of Caustic (no, _Alexander_ ) and his current impression, the more he's unsure. 

“Wait.”

Walter stops in his tracks. Over his shoulder, Alexander seems to be struggling with his words. His fists clenched and unclench by his side numerous times.

“I…appreciate the present. And the company,” Alexander says slowly. “I tolerated your presence.”

For some ungodly reason, he cannot help but laugh. It's as good as an apology from men like Alexander. They can't say sorry, can't apologise and mean it too. But Walter knows how difficult it is to say sorry even when you know you're in the wrong. 

“You’re a right cunt, Alexander,” he smiles as he opens the front door and walks away, not even waiting to hear if Alexander says goodbye or goodnight or even some variant of it.

If he were to relay the events of tonight to someone reasonable, they'd no doubt say that Alexander has been a jerk, and that Walter doesn't deserve him. Maybe they're right. Maybe he doesn't need Alexander. But Walter has lived long enough to know he's got bad taste in people. He always liked his beer cold and bitter and smooth, and Caustic is no exception to that rule. But this is a beer he can't ignore. They have to fight with each other, fight against each other. They work well enough in the ring. Maybe they'll work better out of it. He hopes they work better out of it. He just knows they've got the chemistry. Now they just need the spark, the catalyst, to really set their world on fire. And that spark clearly isn't going to be him. 

He can't hate Alexander, just like he can't hate Maggie. But what he feels about him is something else though. He doesn't quite know what it is, but he figures he might find the answer if he looks at the bottom of a bottle enough times. 

“You sure you want another?” The bartender ain't Mirage tonight, but that's OK. It's probably better this way. No need to give them the sob story, not that it's much of a sob story to begin with. He's a forgive and forget type. Tomorrow he'll be a bit hung over and he'll completely forget about this whole thing with Alexander and everything will be like nothing every happened. He isn't going to waste a thought on someone that might not even waste a thought on him. 

“One more for the road, pup,” Walter says, surrounded by beer bottles and no one else. Until he's buzzed or he figures out the answer, then he'll leave. Whichever comes first. 

**Author's Note:**

> _Don't you guys worry. I'm already writing a sequel fic to this one that will make this ending a lot happier (and a lot more NSFW)_


End file.
